


Blighted

by SapphyreLily



Series: skein of light [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, ghost!Yamagata, guild wars 2 au, is it really character death if they come back as a spirit tho, necromancer!Osamu, revenant!kawanishi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: There is a time and place to experiment with binding rituals, and Osamu picks the worst time and place possible.





	Blighted

**Author's Note:**

> I, um, am not very sorry. But, sorry.

His head is pounding – flopping up and down as it bounces off something hard and rough and _moving._ The constant movement is nauseating, almost enough for him to pass out again.

Again?

He struggles to get his eyes open, sees nothing but the dark and the eerie glow of something. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on breathing, focusing on anything that will get his mind off the spikes of pain that correspond with each bump his head takes.

Where is he? What is happening? What had he been doing before this?

“Intruders! Get them!”

The air is knocked from his body, and as he struggles to regain his breath, he guesses that he was tossed carelessly to the ground by whatever was carrying him before. His nose is buried in the damp dirt, but the smell is familiar to him.

_I’m still in Tangled Depths._

What had happened?

A fight. The overpowering stench of the dead, mixed with the odour of mulch.

Bright blue projectiles, interspersed with pink-purple orbs. A broad back pressed against his, comforting and strong, right before it was torn away, blond hair disappearing over the cliff.

_‘Tsumu. No–!_

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. His brother, dead?

His staff torn from his hand, a powerful blow to his head. Osamu wracks his mind but recalls nothing more. It is all black, black.

_I was taken by Mordrem. But why?_

_“Hey. Hey.”_

He blinks. Is he imagining it? That glow?

_“Hey. I know you can hear me. I’m pretty sure I’m visible.”_

A ghost?

His fingers dig in the dirt, and he pushes upright, groaning. He hears a breathy sigh – it _is_ a ghost. But, that feeling…

“You’re not recently departed.” His voice is a croak, raspy and horrible, but the spirit doesn’t seem to mind.

_“Yeah, I died hundreds of years ago. But enough about me, my friend’s in trouble!”_

“What?” Did he say friend?

_“Yeah, he’s just over here.”_ The ghost points ahead, not too far off. _“They’ve got him in one of the pod things and I can almost touch him through the damn plant. He’s close to death.”_

He thinks he can figure it out, now. They must be close to one of the Blighting Trees. He had heard the stories, of what happened to people when they were put into the pods alive. “You want me to cut him out?”

_“Yeah! Please?”_

Osamu groans with exasperation, but his conscience is tugging at him. He knows he won’t be able to refuse, and sighs as he pulls his legs under him. “I don’t have a knife.”

_“There’s that glowy blue stick over there. I think the plant monsters dropped it.”_

He turns. Gasps. Begins to drag himself towards it, even though his entire body aches. “My staff.”

_“Real pretty it is. But can you use it to get my friend out?”_

“I can try.” He’s not sure why he’s agreeing to help – did he hit his head too hard? – but uses the staff to push himself up, nodding slightly to the ghost. “Lead the way. The Mordrem might be back soon.”

_“Follow me.”_ The spirit sets off, his feet never touching the ground, and boy, does Osamu envy him. He hurts almost too much to walk.

A thought tickles his mind, and he calls out. It’s too soft to him, but the spirit turns back slightly. “What’s such an old spirit doing, wandering around here?”

The ghost shrugs. _“Was exploring with my friend. He got me out of the Mists, and now I follow him wherever.”_

Osamu doesn’t understand. “Got you out…? Of the Mists?”

The ghost walks backwards, gesturing as he speaks. _“Yeah. He made a tear between the worlds by accident and freed me. Well, I was nosy and went to look then got stuck here. But that’s alright, I always wanted to see Tyria again!”_

Osamu still doesn’t understand. How can any necromancer be powerful enough to– Unless–

“He’s not a necromancer, is he?”

The spirit shakes his head. _“Revenant.”_

That would explain it. Those cursed warriors were always too powerful. “And now you want me to help get him out?”

_“Well, yeah, he’s my friend.”_ The ghost peers at him, then snaps his fingers, expression clearing. _“You don’t like revenants.”_

Osamu smiles a little, though it hurts his face. “Necromancers are better.”

_“You’re a necromancer, I take it.”_

“Excellent guess.”

_“Well, then you’d be able to sense me even if I disappear. Being visible is tough work.”_ The ghost’s aura dims, but Osamu can still see him.

“Yeah. You’re just not so bright now.”

_“You’ve got your staff for that,”_ the spirit points out. _“Great light source, you don’t need me lighting the way. Which is, kind of rude, I_ think _.”_

“People use ghosts as light sources?”

_“Hey now, do you see people carrying torches into Ascalon City?”_

“The ghosts will see the light and kill them.”

_“Well, yeah, there’s that too. Anyway. I’ve seen some people carrying those staves around. Nice weapon choice.”_

“Thanks. Took me an age to craft it. My brother–” Osamu cuts himself off, biting his lip as memories assail him.

_“What?”_

“Nothing. Let’s hurry, I need to go find my brother.”

_“Where is he?”_

“I–” Osamu hesitates, not wanting to admit it. “I… Saw him go over a cliff.”

_“Oh. Oh damn. I’m sorry, dude.”_

“I’ll find him,” Osamu whispers, mostly to himself. “He can’t be dead. He can’t, he can’t.”

_“Shouldn’t you be able to sense if he’s dead? You know, being a necromancer and all.”_

The spirit is right, but wrong. Osamu shakes his head. “We’re too far from where I saw him fall. I need to be close to the death site to feel his spirit.”

_“Ah. Makes sense.”_

“There’s a lot of other dead here.” Osamu stares at the grove of pods, now ten paces away. “Too much interference.”

_“Funny way to put it. Ah! He’s here.”_ The ghost points, and Osamu straightens, fingers finding the familiar grooves on the staff, calming him. He inhales deeply, emptying his mind, then mutters an incantation. The ground rumbles slightly beneath his feet, and a discoloured minion of decaying animal and plant matter claws its way out of the ground, chittering excitedly at him. He smiles.

“Go,” he tells the minion, and it dashes towards the pod, tearing and scraping at the leaves and bark and bulbous membrane.

The ghost is watching the destruction from the side, wringing his hands. _“Oh no, oh no, I hope we’re not too late.”_

Osamu feels a shred of pity for him. (He thinks his lack of emotion might have been knocked even further off the main spectrum, he’s not sure.) The spirit worries for his friend, just as he worries for his brother. “Hey,” he calls, and watches the spirit turn to him, chewing on his nails. “The jungle has claimed too many lives. I hope it doesn’t claim another today.”

The ghost smiles weakly. _“Me too. I don’t suppose you could use your fancy staff to poke a hole in this thing?”_

Osamu shakes his head. “That’ll ruin it. And I don’t have enough energy for another minion or to throw some projectiles at it. Sorry.”

The ghost waves it off. _“It’s chill man, thanks for doing this much. You’re probably pretty close to death yourself.”_

“You got that right.”

There’s a screech, and they turn to see the minion tearing through the body of the pod, a gush of fluid washing it backwards. It thrashes for a bit, then stills, and Osamu sighs. He releases the magic holding its body together, whispering, “Thank you for your service.”

He can hear the ghost calling already, his voice travelling back to him. _“Taichi! Taichi! Oh gods, please don’t die!”_

Osamu figures his presence may be required.

He drags himself forward, wrinkling his nose at the pod fluid. He kneels beside the ghost and the pale figure of the revenant, holding a palm over his body. His life force is still present, but so weak that he might almost be dead.

The spirit is still patting his friend down, crying when his hands don’t pass through him. _“No, no, Taichi! For the gods’ sake, you weren’t supposed to die yet! Oh Grenth, please, don’t take him yet…”_

Now Osamu just feels bad. The ghost clearly cares for his friend, even if he is almost dead. “Um, you’ll see him in the Mists soon…?”

_“We haven’t seen all of Tyria yet! He promised! Taichi, please!”_

Osamu doesn’t know what to say. His head is spinning, and he feels like he’s watching everything through a fog.

As if sensing his hesitation, the ghost turns to him, grabbing his arm. If they are both shocked that the spirit can cling on to him, the spirit hides it better. _“Please, stranger. One last favour. If we’re all going to the Mists anyway, help me. Do something!”_

“I don’t know what I can do!” Osamu’s fingers tremble on his staff – where is this panic coming from? “He’s almost dead, and I can’t keep spirits in this world long– I don’t even know how _you_ are still here, nothing binds you to this place!”

_“I don’t know, nobody knows!”_ The spirit is growing more desperate, his fingers digging into Osamu’s arm. _“Why don’t you bind him to something then! His spirit is still here!”_

“What can I bind him to? There’s nothing around here that would work!”

The spirit suddenly releases his arm, stumbling backwards. His eyes are wide, even as he trips over the body of his friend, and even Osamu can sense the looming presence behind him.

_Mordrem. Dwayna save us._

The Mordrem throws its arm out, knocking him clean away, and his back slams into another pod. He crumples to the ground, holding his midriff and wheezing, trying to get back up.

_“Taichi? No, wait, you’re not him!”_

Osamu’s eyes flick up, taking in the build of the Mordrem. Is it… Could it be…

_“Hey! Stop! You look like him, but you’re not!”_

The plant monster stumbles, following the fleeing spirit, swiping at it. Despite his pain, Osamu’s mind is whirring, knitting ideas together.

A Mordrem. Which looks like the fallen revenant, who is still alive in the pod. Blighting Tree. Which means these are Mordrem pods for the living, not blighting pods for the dead. Which in turn means Mordrem clones of the living…

And there is that binding ritual that he found in the Priory archives that he always wanted to test…

He has an idea. But he has no idea if it will work or not.

“Hey!” The ghost’s head turns, and he begins sprinting towards him. “No, wait, go the other way! Don’t remind it that I’m here!”

_“Sorry!”_ The ghost sprints off. _“But you called!”_

“I have an idea! Just keep that thing off me while I work!”

_“I hope this idea involves killing it!”_

“Sort of!” Osamu can only hope. “How strong is your friend’s will to live?”

_“Oh, plenty, I think! He survived the Mists as a child, you know?”_

Osamu doesn’t know, but he chooses to keep his mouth shut, crawling towards the broken Mordrem pod.

His hands and knees ache, burning from where the pod fluid seeps into his grazes; his breath comes as heavy pants. His body is working against him, but he thinks– He thinks he has enough energy to pull it off. He’s curious despite his fatigue, and he wants to see this experiment through to the end.

_I don’t have any of the materials I need, but hopefully the incantation is enough._

The revenant’s body has never felt so far away. When Osamu finally collapses atop him, wheezing, he’s almost relieved to feel the spark of life still in the body. But it’s fading, fast.

“Please, please work.” He mutters, pressing his hands to the fluid-slick armour. He calls to the fading spirit, binding a thread of its life force to him, coaxing it out of the body. His fingers draw runes on the armour, and slowly, slowly, the spirit coalesces before him, taking on the visage of the broken body.

_“Am I dead? Finally?”_

Osamu didn’t expect to hear that. “No. I’m not letting you slip away just yet. Your friend asked me to save you.”

_“Friend…?”_ The revenant’s eyes follow his, and the softest of sighs follow. _“Hayato. I should’ve known.”_

“He asked me to save you, and I have a theory.”

_“I don’t like this theory already, necromancer.”_

“Do me a favour and shut up,” Osamu tells him. He did not waste his energy to speak to an ungrateful spirit. He doesn’t question how the spirit knows he’s a necromancer – most spirits do, when he binds their life forces for a chat before he releases them to the Mists. “I’m not helping you, I’m helping your friend. Now, go hop in that Mordrem and control its body.”

_“You don’t give me orders.”_

“I do now. Go do it, because your friend is dying.”

That gets him up. A blur of blue is all that’s left behind, slamming into and disappearing into the Mordrem’s body. The monster seems to struggle with itself for a while, then stops, its arms hanging limp at its sides. Osamu struggles to his feet, using his staff as a crutch to make his way towards the still Mordrem.

When he reaches it, the first spirit – Hayato – is staring up at the plant, jaw hanging. _“Taichi?”_

_“Hi. Hurry up, necromancer, I’m losing control of it.”_

“I’m on it. Hey, move back. I need a circle.”

Hayato moves back, and Osamu draws himself up, pushing back the tiredness that blurs the edges of his vision. He draws runes in the air while chanting under his breath, and the ground around the monster begins to glow.

The Mordrem shudders, and Osamu can feel the magic holding it up tremble, refusing to give way. He speaks the words with more force, envisioning the pale threads of the spirit knitting together and melding with the magic of the Mordrem’s life force.

_“Hurry up! I’m losing control!”_

It’s not enough. Beads of sweat dot his forehead as he switches tracts, mind latching on to something else. Something simpler, but just as binding.

It feels odd to twist the ritual, to bind the wood of the Mordrem clone to the spirit standing in it instead of to himself, but he figures that it might just work. What was the Mordrem but a soulless shell, and something akin to a weapon?

It feels like an age before he thinks the ritual is thorough enough, and hears the growl of the Mordrem as he wraps up. “Stop, necromancer. I have it.”

Osamu exhales, muttering the last words of the spell, praying that it will hold. He leans heavily on his staff – surely the weapon wasn’t made for this, but he doesn’t care – watching, hoping that the altered weapon-soulbind spell would work.

Hayato is not as cautious as he is, and steps forward. _“Taichi?”_

“Hayato.” The Mordrem doesn’t sound as harsh now, though its face is still hard and twisted. “You should have let me die.”

_“And never be able to find you in the Mists again? By the Six, I’ve already told you, you’re stuck with me in this world and the next, so stop. Trying. To. Get. Rid. Of. Me.”_

“You are so stubborn.”

“Can we get out of here? Please?” Osamu feels light-headed. He used too much magic, and now he’s paying the price.

_“Yeah, sure, of course! Thank you so much for saving Taichi.”_

“My pleasure.” Osamu falls to his knees, black spots dotting his vision. “I–”

_“Taichi, c’mon, he helped you, now you help him.”_

“I– I’ll try.”

_“What do you mean,_ try _?”_

“Modremoth… It’s calling me…”

Osamu can barely think, barely hear. Everything is coming from so far away. It feels like he is stuck underwater.

_“Taichi! No! Stop!”_

“I have… To answer… Follow the call…”

_“Taichi! Stop!”_

Osamu feels hands on his shoulders, shaking, shaking him. _“Necromancer, what’s going on?!”_

He feels like he’s being lifted up. Thinks, that perhaps, he answers.

(He’s not sure.)

_I did what you asked. I bound him to something, and now he won’t – can’t – leave for the Mists._

_He’s bound to the clone, the Mordrem, but also to Mordremoth’s magic. That’s the best I could do._

_I had no materials, so little energy. No time._

_I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way. I’m so sorry._

(He doesn’t hear any reply.)


End file.
